


run, boy, run (this world is not made for you)

by RowanQuinn



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, OT3, Romance, Sad with a Happy Ending, That's it, Thominewt, also i forgot but, it wasn't supposed to go like this but somehow it turned out i couldn't stop and, that's my explanation, there's a brief mention of attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanQuinn/pseuds/RowanQuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Running is all Minho’s ever done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	run, boy, run (this world is not made for you)

**Author's Note:**

> [title comes from Run, Boy, Run, by Woodkid; this song is totally Minho's and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise]
> 
> I'm totally done torturing Minho. Truly. Someone sHOULD STOP ME.
> 
> (also, if you think I should tag something, just let me know, right? The same goes to grammar mistakes :3)  
> [I feel like I should be talking about something, but right now I can't put my finger on _what_ ]

 

  
_run, boy, run_  
 _this ride is a journey to_  
 _run, boy, run_  
 _the secret inside of you_  
 _run, boy, run_  
 _this race is a prophecy_  
 _run, boy, run_  
 _and disappear in the trees_

_tomorrow is another day_  
 _and you won’t have to hide away_  
 _you’ll be a man, boy_  
 _but for now it’s time to run,_  
 _it’s time to run_  
 _(woodkid, run boy run)_

Until he’s seven, Minho runs just for fun. He likes the feeling, the steady floor under his feet, the wind caressing his face; he likes to pretend he’s the fastest man on Earth and that he’s a hero (because, after all, people with power are always heroes, aren’t they?).  
But then he is seven and he starts to run for real; and it’s not a game like it used to be, it’s his only way out.  
He runs. His dad calls him, angry, while his mom tries to reach him, high heels hitting the floor with undoubtedly grace — but he runs and runs and runs until he can’t hear them anymore.  
And Minho likes to hide and pretend none of them will ever find him again (even though he know they eventually will); daddy and his calloused hands and mama and her nonchalantly eyes.  
He keeps running.

Minho is ten and the other kids make fun of his hair, of the shape of his eyes, of his skin.  
He pretends it doesn’t hurt. How could it? He doesn’t even _know_ this people.  
(but it does, of course it does; being judged always hurts and Minho won’t ever admit it, but he kinda wished he would make friends as fast as people do in the movies¹)  
He turns his back to the playground, eyes burning.  
And he runs.

Minho is eleven and there’s a new boy in school.  
He’s tall, all clumsy limbs and golden fluffy hair. He has a crook smile and soft, agile, skillful fingers. He knows math, and he doesn’t care that the other kids won’t play with him when he’s with Minho. If Isaac Newton ( _Newt_ , he says, because, ew, no, just mom calls him Isaac) isn’t the most amazing person Minho has ever met, maybe his whole life’s a lie.  
They run together.

Minho is twelve and he gets his own bunch of friends.  
There’s a lot of boys (and a girl, he can’t forget that there’s a girl, too, because she’s the scariest kid **ever** , and, _no_ , you just don’t forget someone like Teresa Agnes) who have a lot of classes in common; and maybe they just started sticking along because Newt’s a stubborn brat, but that’s ok. They’re all weirdos, to be honest. Gally doesn’t know how to handle his anger, what usually gets them in problems with other kids. And Thomas ( _Tommy_ , Newt calls him, but he’s the only one who gets to call Greenie this way) is just _so curious_ ; he’s usually the reason why Minho ends up grounded (that time with the extinguisher wasn’t his fault, ok? It was _absolutely_ Thomas’). There’s others, too. Frypan (he knows how to cook; do you have any idea how this is amazing?). Ben (he’s most likely the sweetest between them; there’s no way anyone could ever be mad at Ben, he’s always so cool). Alby (he’s one year older and he takes care of them; even Minho has to admit that if they had to elect a leader, it would be him).  
They’re most a crazy bunch of kids with too much free time and, apart from Alby, with no real sense between safe and dangerous.  
But that’s ok. They make it work. They run.

Minho is thirteen and he falls in love for the first time.  
It shouldn’t be a surprise, truly, because everyone loves Newt. He swears a lot, uses the world “bloody” a lot, and there’s times when understanding what he says is impossible because of that accent of his. But he’s kind, and he has a golden blond hair and golden eyes so sweet. He’s not always gentle, but he tries to be, and, god, his smile is so, so _beautiful_.  
Newt loves him too, and this should be amazing, but it’s not. It’s not, it’s terrifying, because Minho stares at him and Newt’s eyes are soft and full of love, and he knows this is wrong ( _daddy will kill him, god, daddy will kill him_ ).  
“Stay”, Newt asks, pleading eyes.  
But Minho won’t. Can’t.  
“I’m sorry”, he says.  
And he runs.

{ _Minho is fourteen and they don’t talk about it ever again_ }

Minho is fifteen and Newt attempted suicide.  
There was a time where they could sit and try to solve everything. But, at that time, Newt wouldn’t have done what he did. And maybe Minho would’ve know how to fix things. Now everything he does is to stand at the door, staring at the boy he loves. And Thomas looks at him, sorrowful eyes but Minho can’t stand that look (he knows Thomas wants him to _do something_ , to _say something_ , he’s asking for Minho to _stay_ because he can’t deal with this alone).  
Minho knows just can’t deal with it.  
He runs.

Minho is sixteen and both his best friends are dating.  
Being honest with himself, he should’ve seen it coming. All the looks, the touches, the way Thomas was just _there_ to Newt. They complete each other in a way everyone can see.  
Minho shouldn’t feel like his chest is being ripped open and his heart is being stolen (he has no right to).  
Minho shouldn’t run.  
But “should” isn’t the same thing as “won’t”, is it?

Minho is seventeen and he’s in love with both of his best friends.  
He knows it’s been a long since he started loving Newt. It’s been a long since he denied this feeling, like if the mere fact of hiding it could make him believe he got over it.  
He surely didn’t. And it’s not in his plans to fall in love again, of course it’s not, but he can’t help it. Thomas is just so perfect, heart-shaped lips and beautiful eyes, innocent smiles and soft touches.  
Newt knows. He loves Thomas, and he says he loves Minho too, and this seems to be ok.  
“Stay”, they whisper. They hold his hand like they can live like this, the three of them, together.  
But he won’t. Can’t.  
Running is all Minho’s ever done.

Minho is eighteen and life’s never been this hard.  
Dad kicks him out. Mom watches from the widow as he runs nervous fingers through his hair and attempts miserably not to fall to pieces.  
He knows he’s not ever coming back here. And he doesn’t want to think, he doesn’t want to think, but all the years come back as he looks at the house where he spent most of his childhood.  
(there are good memories, like when he would bring Newt and they would play games all day, or when Thomas would come and they would read books together; or even when all their friends would be allowed to spend the whole afternoon watching movies and just be normal kids for a day)  
(but there’s also bad memories, like when he would hide under the bed and pray that father wouldn’t go searching for him, that mother wouldn’t tell him to)  
Minho runs.

{ _Minho is nineteen and nothing changes_ }

Minho is twenty and he has a boyfriend who likes to throw things and scream.  
He tries not to care, busying his mind with work and dreaming about school, about things he would like to do someday. But then, when the night comes, there’s bruises and hurt limbs. There’s limps and salty blood in his mouth, and dizziness and pain. And Minho tries not to remember, too, but father’s ghost is always haunting him, empty eyes, heavy hands over his shoulder (home was never home when he was angry).  
He doesn’t think he can face it anymore.  
On a Sunday morning, in the middle of nowhere, Minho catches his things and he runs.

Minho is twenty-one and rain falls over his head, soaking his clothes.  
The ground is cold under his aching feet, his lungs filled with oxygen but feeling more like if he’s being poisoned, because every time he breathes, agonizing pain cuts through his chest (a reminder that even if this has been his life since he was seven, not even Minho can stand everything).  
But he keeps running, because that’s what he does, right? He runs.

Minho is twenty-two and he has a sprained ankle.  
He lays on his bed at night and closes his eyes, waiting for the morning to come.  
Running is all Minho’s ever been good at. Take it, and what’s left?

{ _Minho is twenty-three and he’s homesick_ }

Minho is twenty-four and he comes back.  
He comes back to a city full of memories and people that may have thought they would never see him again. He comes back to parents that will see him on the streets and will pretend that he was never their son, not really. He comes back to a rush of feelings he always hid from.  
But, this time? This time, running won’t solve his problems.

Minho is twenty-five and things will never be the same.  
He knows it. He knows he can never ask his old friends anything, because he never deserved it. He ran away. He could’ve chosen to stay, but he didn’t. He did everything wrong and he left them thinking he never cared about them. He _left_ them. That’s all it is about, right? He left them and he left himself and he pretended that everything was okay, that everything would be okay, even when he curled up on his bed at night and cried until he fell asleep. He knew it was wrong, but he still did it, and this is worst (running always gave him the feeling of control, but he never controlled anything; if he’s all alone now it’s just his fault).  
“Minho?”  
Minho rises his eyes, getting himself trapped in Newt’s wide golden eyes. Guilt overwhelms him, filling his heart, making him feel so small, so dirty, so fucking…  
“Newt? Who’s there?”  
Minho wants to run.  
He doesn’t.

{ _and Newt hugs him like it’s not been that much of time, like Minho’s not been a coward, like all that matters is the fact that he’s there and_  
 _Tommy touches him with sparkling eyes and trembling lips, like if he’s going to break at the slightly heavier touch, at any moment and_  
 _Minho’s heart clenches inside his chest because this feels like home and it’s so **wrong wrong wrong**_  
 _he ran, he ran away, they shouldn’t be like this, they shouldn’t accept him like this and he knows he deserves to suffer_  
 _because that’s fair, that’s the right thing to happen_ }

[ _but they don’t seem to care, holding him in their arms and Minho feels like crumbling_ ]  
[ _it feels like a dream, but he knows it’s not_ ]  
[ _“thank you”, he whispers, and it comes out as a sob_ ]  
[ _thank you thank you **thank you**_ ]

Minho is twenty-six and he hides his face in the crook of Thomas’ neck, holding Newt’s hand and closing his arms tightly around both of them.  
They just keep like that — silent, unmoving — for what it seems a long, long time. None of them says anything.  
Minho decides to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> [¹this was one of the worst disappointment in my life 'til now; shame on you, movies, for giving me false hopes ;^;]
> 
> [This is my tumblr](http://solemnhypnoticdahlia.tumblr.com). I take prompts, fangirl over things on my dashboard, and do mostly nothing useful there. Come talk to me \õ


End file.
